The Dark Place (12 page)

D
usk was settling into Belfast, curling cat-ways for the night. The streets were deserted – everyone already where they wanted to be – and the city was fast becoming a startlingly quiet wasteland.

The iron smell of rain was in the warm, muggy air.

Karl stood beneath the arch and halo of steel streetlamps before finally entering the building, a ghostly moon the only witness.

“I had a feeling you’d return,” said Cathy, smugly. “Did you find your precious Martina? Has that particular little goose started laying more golden eggs for you again?”

Cathy seemed to have physically deteriorated since last he saw her. Her face’s mottling had spread like an unmanageable rash, making her look ill, sallow and sweaty. Bizarrely, she was wearing a too-small bathing suit, breasts swelling above the wire-rimmed top. Below, her bottoms rode up on the insides of her thighs. Karl caught a glance of
menacing-looking
pubic shadow.

“I need you to tell me about the young girls, Cathy – all of them.”

“You like them young, eh? Plump and delicious like little naked geese? Can’t handle someone your own age, ripe like me?”

“You know what he’s doing with them.”

“Who?”

“He’s fattening them up like geese to the slaughter. The first time we met, you asked me if the fat golden goose fled its cage. Remember? And a moment ago, you mentioned goose again.”

Cathy smiled, uttering not a word.

“You lure them here, Cathy, for him. Don’t you? All the little girls? They’ve all been here, at one time or another. Haven’t they?”

“I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For the first time since meeting her, Karl thought he detected hesitancy in Cathy’s usual certitude of manner.

“You don’t want to be an accessory to murder, Cathy. I believe you were trying to stop him, his sick murdering game. You were throwing little clues at me, but I was too thick to understand. I didn’t catch on at first, but I have now. Where or what is the cage?”

“I … you should leave … I don’t want to talk to you.”

“They found a body in Scotland. More than likely it’s Martina Ferris. Do you want that on your conscience, Cathy? Murder and torture of young girls?”

“This could be some sort of trap, to put me back in prison.”

“It’s no trap. I can assure you that I’m not a cop of any description – undercover or otherwise. I need this information. I need to stop him murdering more young girls. Your name won’t be brought into this. I promise you.”

“You … you still haven’t convinced me that you’re not really an undercover cop.”

“How the hell can I prove it to you? Go on, test me.”

“Well … I do have a … tester. Just to prove you’re not a cop …” From a stack of battered suitcases directly to her right, she began extracting a small, metal box. Removed a tiny, fat package wrapped in cling film from the box. The package’s content was brown. Resembled a lone turd. Cathy suddenly grinned secretively at Karl.

“What’s that?” asked Karl.

“This? This is a the best type of lie detector test.” Her grin straightened into a knife slit.

Rummaging through another box, she produced a wrinkled apple and a rather battered but fully functioning Victorinox Spartan Swiss army knife, expertly selecting the correct blade from the metal housing. With the blade, she beheaded the stem of the apple before flipping the fruit sideways, tunnelling halfway into its stomach, vomiting out the contents. Her movements were fluent. An expert’s touch.

“Do you like apple pies?” she asked.

“I don’t have time for nonsense, Cathy. Can you help me or not?” stated Karl, his patience long gone.

“This recipe can’t be rushed. Give me that pen on the top of that suitcase,” she instructed, holding out her hand like a doctor performing an operation.

Karl quickly located the item, handing her a yellow Bic ballpoint.

She removed the disused pen’s blue cap before expertly biting the golden nib and extracting the inky inner via her shadowed teeth. Spat the inner out. Blew through the plastic body like a kid with a peashooter. “Perfect. No blockage.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Soon!” she exclaimed, scooping out more of the fruity sludge. Repeated three more times before unwrapping the cling film from the fat package, plugging the brown waxy substance into the apple’s stomach. Entrenching the Bic’s plastic body permanently in the top of the apple, she provocatively ran her tongue along the Bic in a way that made Karl shiver in a bad way. “This is what you call a real pipe. Give me a lighter.”

“I don’t have one. I’ve stopped smoking.”

“You’ll find one over there, beside the shoes,” she said, watching him scout until he found it. “Good. That’s it. Bring it over.”

“Now what?” he asked, holding the lighter.

“Light me up,” she commanded.

“You’re going to smoke out of
that?
”

“And you.”

Karl shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“This isn’t a pantomime where I say oh yes you are, and you say oh no I’m not.” Her face suddenly shut down. No expression. “It looks like you can’t be trusted. My instincts
were
right. You
are
a cop. Going to arrest me for possession, Mister Pig?” Cathy oink oinked twice, close to Karl’s face, wetting his skin with spittle.

For the longest few seconds of his life, Karl calculated his options, understanding that there was but one. He flicked the wheel, the flame skinny and sharp in the dim light. He held the flame towards her. She guided his hand closer until the flame connected to the apple’s contents, making it glow a bright orange speckled with red and black. Without warning, the flame caught the hairs on his fingers, scorching them.

“Fuck!” Karl pulled his hand quickly away.

Cathy sniffed the aroma of burnt flesh, smiling. “That isn’t bacon I smell? Oink! Oink!”

Fuck you
, he wanted to say, but said nothing while watching her sucking on the Bic pipe, gently but with purpose. Within seconds, the entire room was suddenly filled with the sweetness of baked apples and a less than subtle smell of something less homely, the reek cutting hard and clean to his brain.

“My apple pies are the best,” smiled Cathy, watching him beyond lowered eyelids, smoke filtering through her chipped teeth, clinging to her face.

Slowly opening her eyes, she proffered Karl the pipe. He reluctantly took it. Glanced at her face, the way it was imploding like a sagging balloon, before staring at the madness nesting in his hand. The Bic’s entrance was thick with Cathy’s saliva. Unappealing. Quickly obstructed it from his thoughts. Went for the jugular of the deep dive by taking a brave toke of the pipe. Coughed. Spluttered wildly. Disgorged smoke and greenish snot from his nose. Disgusted. Quickly wiped.

“You really
are
new to this,” laughed Cathy. “Don’t worry. The first cut is always the deepest – and
sweetish
. Now, this time, inhale like you mean it; as if your very life depends upon it.
Don’t
waste it.”

Reluctantly, he sucked it in, no longer trying to block its dark journey into his lungs and bloodstream. Its power hit him, right in the neck. An invisible voltage hardwired to his brain. His arms were suddenly
humming with electricity. His legs felt empty, like papier mâché. He needed to sit.

“Take another hit,” said Cathy, studying his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course … I trust … you. Very much …” he muttered, little seconds too late, his timing out of kilter. The room was slowly swooning. He closed his eyes to stop the vertigo. It took more than a moment to shake his eyes away and pull them back to Cathy. “Just … just tell me … tell me where the cage is …?”

“What a beautiful journey you’re going to have. I hope your passport and visa are all in order, Karl?” chuckled Cathy, the laugh sinister and dark.

“Journey?” His head was becoming swampy. He could feel his face screwing inward like a bathtub draining.

“We’re both in the same head, Karl. Don’t you understand that?”

“Same head …” The room was swelling, in and out, breathing like a concrete lung. He could hear its heart beat.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
“Heart … is on fire … I need … air …”

“Don’t stress.” Cathy’s eyes widened slightly, speckling with instant delight. She kissed him gently on the cheek, bringing her mouth to his. Her mouth widened, her sweaty face becoming flushed and big-pored. She murmured something inaudible but foul in his ear.

Karl could smell her pungent body odour; could see his distorted reflection on the surface of the bulbous studs rooted in her tongue. To Karl, something bizarre was happening to Cathy’s lips, causing them to swell up and look like female genitalia. She pushed the bizarre lips forcefully against his. He resisted.

“If you’re not willing to help me,” she hissed inside his mouth, “then I’m not willing to help you. If you disobey one more time, you’ll no longer be welcome. Do I make myself clear? You’ll never find the cage.”

Karl tried to respond. “My tongue … it’s … all rub … rub … rub-be
ryyyyyyyyyyy.
”

“Am I clear!”

“Yes … per … fect … ly …”

“My apples are the best on the market,” said Cathy, placing Karl’s
hand on one of her breasts. “Know why?”

Karl shook his head, his tongue no longer forming words. He was sinking fast in dark quicksand and madness.

“Once you’re done, you simply eat the evidence!” exclaimed Cathy, her laughter vulgar, unexpectedly loud, her other hand pushing the smouldering apple tight against his mouth, hurting his teeth. “Bite. Make the evidence vanish. We don’t want the cops arresting us. Do we?” Her eyes were suddenly wide and vacant like a window forced open.

Karl nodded in slow motion. Opened his mouth. Bit down on the apple. It tasted like mushy sawdust. He swallowed the hot contents in his mouth. He was invulnerable.

For a brief, cogent moment, he saw sparks dancing before him. Cathy was removing what little clothing there was attached to her body, her eyes never leaving his.

He could now see, for the first time, that Nature has been careless in its disregard for her anatomy. Her body was misshapen, bent scoliotic. Blue veins mapped the entire expanse of her exposed skin. Yet, despite all the imperfections, there was a repulsive beauty for any eye willing to look.

“You lying bastard! If you’re not a cop, what was this doing in your fucking coat?
Eh!
Answer, you bastard, before I blow your lying skull off!”

The .357 Colt Python being held tight against his head was wobbling in her trembling hands.

“No! Don’t! Just … just let … just let me explain. P … p … please … C … Cathy …”

Suddenly, everything developed into a still-life framed negative. Cathy’s knuckles became bone-white. Her finger tightened on the trigger. Karl held his breath. He imagined the trigger being pulled, the bullet tearing half his ashen face off.

“I’m listening, but I can’t guarantee for how long,” replied Cathy, breaking the deadly silence. “It better be good, otherwise it’ll be bad – for you.”

Karl tried bringing saliva to his mouth, but it remained dry as cotton. “I … I keep it for protection. I’ve made plenty of enemies, over the
years as a private investigator. Just for protection … that’s all …”

“I don’t believe you,” she hissed, adding pressure to the trigger.

She’s going to do it. The mad bastard was going to do it
. “Just look at the barrel, for fuck sake! Look … look where the serial number was. It’s been filed off. The gun’s illegal. Think the cops would allow me to carry that about with me? You’ve got to believe me, Cathy.”

“Don’t got to do anything, except pull this trigger! Lay down, face to the floor!”

“Look, Cathy, there’s no need –”

“I won’t tell you again –
get on the ground!
”

With a free hand, Cathy produced a needle, its syringe filled with polluted brown liquid. Drops fell from the needle’s tip leaving a creeping trail. She made a movement, bringing herself closer to Karl. There was heat, tremendous heat, shifting from her body. She reached and touched his shoulder.

He recoiled.

“Don’t,” she whispered, moving her tongue around the word as she slipped the needle into Karl’s neck.

Initially, he couldn’t feel it, but then came the rush, a cold rush of exhilaration and power invading every pore and blood cell, confusing his senses.

Tiring, Karl closed his eyes to the profane madness. He could feel Cathy pulling him on to his back, sliding on top, her oily skin as slippery as a snake. He tried pushing her off, but his arms had become impotent.

“Don’t fight it,” she whispered. “Easy … that’s right. Nice and easy …” She began removing his clothes, gently at first, then with purpose, ripping them.

“Please … don’t … do this, Cathy …”

He could feel her fingers guiding his penis into her wet darkness.

Then everything went bizarre …

Someone began painting tar over his eyes. Everything was changing from bone-white to night-black. His brain slowed down to an absolute crawl. Wobbly.
Rubberisssssssssssed
. The table in the corner was moving towards him, its wooden legs now suddenly human flesh, rubbing up against him, panting like a sexual dog. The curtains covering the
window formed into giant tongues. They licked his naked skin tenderly. Everyone and everything was his friend. The room was changing colours: a kaleidoscope of pyschedelic rainbows. Naked cherubs went sliding down the rainbows, giggling and waving at him to join in. He waved back in slow motion, watching their shoulder-blades see-sawing with movement, their tiny buttocks grinning with pleasure. Soft music permeated his cranium. The entire place was becoming a petri dish of weirdness.

Cathy was grinning, holding a collection of syringes the size of knitting needles, rubbing them against each other.
Klick Klick Klick
, they sounded.